


Therapy with Mr. Fizzles

by bloodandcream



Series: Ship all the Ships [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Also known as, Crack, Drinking, Hand Jobs, I need help, M/M, Sock Puppets, what am I even doing, why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 06:06:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2417777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, sometimes Dean was conscious enough to watch and listen to himself make drunken mistakes like he was sitting on the side lines of a nascar race waiting for a crash. When those moments came around, he had learned he was one more shot away from a black out. God he hoped he blacked out soon and didn’t remember this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Therapy with Mr. Fizzles

Seriously what the hell kind of spirit decides to haunt a bottle of liquor. Actually, no, that totally sounds like something that Dean would do too. It would be pretty funny haunting people that can only see you when you’re drunk. Oh man. This had to be one of the weirdest, and kind of fun, hunts that he and Sam had in a long time.

Well, and Garth too. Who was still hanging out with them drinking. Little dude could not hold his liquor. Dean should have taken it away. Garth really had been a help though, and sure Dean was maybe a resentful, bitter person, but he had to admit that Garth was stepping up. As scrawny and frail as he was, he did what he could and he was patching together a decent network again.

So Dean wasn’t mean enough to take away his booze. Though, maybe he really should have not let Garth have any of his whiskey. Mental note, only give Garth a maximum of five beers in the future. No liquor. Garth plus liquor equals bad.

See, Garth plus liquor, equals Mr Fizzles. Garth is already a strange, hippy, let’s all hug it out kind of guy. That’s how he is sober. Now that he’s drunk, he’s decided to drag Mr Fizzles out and talk to Dean. Now Dean had already protested that Mr Fizzles was for little kids, fuck you very much. But apparently drunk Garth is bold enough to state his opinion that Dean has the emotional maturity of a little kid.

In retrospect throwing a beer bottle at him was probably only proving his point. At least it missed. Dean couldn’t quite seem to get a lock on Garth, but things weren’t being very still at the moment.

He was still talking in that high pitched voice he used with Mr. Fizzles. Something about repressing childhood memories and daddy issues. Goddamit. Where was Sam. Oh yeah, he had puked then promptly passed out with his arms wrapped around the porcelain god.

Fucker.

“Mr Fizzles says that physical contact with other human beings is important, hugs are a good way to let out stress, and to let other people express their love for you.”

“I swear to god I am going to shove that sock up your ass.”

“Mr Fizzles questions the practicality of that.”

“I’ll show you practical.”

Garth dropped the voice, looking his normal sad little dejected self. “C’mon Dean, why are you always so against hugging. It’s. It’s great. You can just be next to a person, and it’s warm, and it’s just nice.”

“I prefer to hug naked women. With my… cock… wait does that make sense.”

“It’s ok, I got the intention man.”

“Man, seriously, you know what, you can work your child whisperer magic with your sock puppet, on kids, but really, I don’t need fucking therapy, I don’t need to talk about it, and if I did, fucking, with a sock puppet, why would even think that’s ok?”

“Ok, I don’t get the intention of that man, sorry.”

“Yeah, I’ll show you something grown up you can do with that stupid sock.”

“Hey, grown ups can like sock puppets.”

“You ever jerk off in a sock Garth?”

Somehow Garth looked horrified, and interested, and…. kind of guilty as he stared at Mr. Fizzles.

“Oh god not Mr Fizzles.”

“I wash it.”

“Oh dude seriously!”

“It’s a very soft sock Dean. And just look at those cute button eyes.”

Dean was horrified. He was horrified and weirded out and Mr Fizzles was looking in to his soul judging him because he had done far, far worse than just jerk off inside a soft sock puppet. Things that Garth, and no other humans, would ever know about. Still, Garth couldn’t know, so Dean should be weirded out.

“They’re creepy man, that’s what they fucking are. Creepy.”

Dean wasn’t really sure when Garth got close enough to pet his cheek with Mr Fizzles, but he also wasn’t sure when they’d drained the bottle of tequila, or, what state they were in. Fuck, what state where they in.

Mr Fizzles was soft. Garth was staring at him with this dopey happy expression on his face looking like he was about to start laughing and Dean realized too late that he was nudging his face against the stupid sock puppet. What the fuck was that a goddam cashmere sock or something, there was no reason for it to be so soft. 

“Oh man Mr Fizzles is soft.”

“I told you.”

“You wash it right?”

“Of course.”

Garth did laugh then, and fell over against Dean, and Dean belatedly realized it could only be a drunk ploy for a hug cause the scrawny guy was wrapping his arms around Dean’s chest. He didn’t mean to, but Dean might have hugged back. Just a little. Ok, so hugging people was pretty nice. People shouldn’t want to hug him, he was dangerous and he was fucked up and he was a fucking hunter goddamit. But there was this wiry friendly guy hugging him, and Dean liked it.

“See, it’s not so hard is it.”

“No.”

He didn’t mean to sound as whiny as he probably did. What the fuck kind of weird therapeutics shit was Garth pulling on him. Guy was like a drunken Dr Phil with a stupid soft sock puppet.

“So what do you and Mr Fizzles get up to?”

Sometimes, sometimes Dean was conscious enough to watch and listen to himself make drunken mistakes like he was sitting on the side lines of a nascar race waiting for a crash. When those moments came around, he had learned he was one more shot away from a black out. God he hoped he blacked out soon and didn’t remember this. Garth had to be black out drunk by now, right. Yeah. Definitely.

It got fuzzy around the edges, and words stopped making a whole lot of sense. It sounded like Garth was saying something to him and it sounded like Dean was saying something back. Mr Fizzles better fucking take this to his grave.

Dean realized he was horizontal and the linoleum floor of the motel was cold against his cheek, curled on his side with his pants around his knees and his face pressed against Garth’s neck sucking on him like the lime they didn’t have for the tequila shots. He had a dick in his hand and it wasn’t his. But it was ok cause there was something soft and warm sliding over his own, and Dean tore himself away from Garth’s neck to realize he was getting jacked off by a guy wearing a sock puppet.

Garth just looked all manners of happy and …. weirdly cute with that fucking scrunched up smile he got, kissing Dean, one hand up his shirt. Dean closed his eyes, he let tequila take the wheel again, and he blacked the fuck out.

When he woke up in the morning, he still had his pants down his thighs. Sam was sprawled half out the bathroom door like he had maybe tried to make a go for a bed but lost his battle with gravity half way. Garth was curled up in the heart shaped tub among a mound of pillows and who the fuck knows why he was sleeping in the tub.

Mr Fizzles was on the floor, looking stiff, his little blue button eyes judging Dean.


End file.
